


Cold Comfort

by kaasknot



Series: Clone Wars Kink fills [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: (Sev wants hugs very badly), Atin has the patience of a goddamn saint, Clonecest, M/M, Sev won't let himself have nice things because that's WEAKNESS, Shame, Walon Vau as a content warning, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/pseuds/kaasknot
Summary: He wasn’t a brotherfucker, he wasn’t likethem! He jerked off to illicit porn on the holonet just like the rest of Delta, not the face of a disgraced, weak brother who wouldn’t know loyalty if it cut him across the mouth.
Relationships: RC-1207 | Delta-07 | Sev/RC-3222 | Atin Skirata
Series: Clone Wars Kink fills [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758301
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	Cold Comfort

“It’s immoral,” Vau had announced one bitterly cold day, clouds scudding across the Kaminoan sky. “Perverted.” He slapped the cane into his palm.

Two clones from Gamma squad were on their knees behind him, heads bowed in shame. Vau had caught them in the act, and taken the opportunity to grind a hard lesson into his troops’ heads. They stood in silent formation before him, faces impassive.

“You can’t trust a man who fucks his own brother. The same twisted corruption that drew him to desecrate family warps him beyond trusting in battle.”

Sev could still remember the way one of the kneeling clones—after that day, he could never quite call them “brothers”—shuddered, his shoulders bowing inward as though he’d been struck.

“You either change your ways, boys, or you’re up for reconditioning.”

They’d sworn to change their ways. But Vau didn’t let them get away with it, not without beating them to within an inch of their lives. Sev could still hear the sound of one’s head hitting duracrete: like wood on stone.

Manda, he didn’t want this! He wasn’t a pervert, he was a good soldier! He’d never once gotten on the wrong side of Vau, and it showed: the worst punishment he’d ever gotten was when he’d pissed off Chorrm squad—and all he’d had to do was let them bloody his nose for recompense. Vau had adjudicated, and Sev’s gett'se still crawled up inside his body at the memory, but Vau hadn’t dealt it himself. Sev was lucky.

Sev, who’d lived and breathed on the firing ranges until he could calculate coriolis drift half on instinct, Sev, who could shoot the gett'se off a fly at 500 yards, Sev—

Sev, who wanted to fuck his brother.

He wiped the evidence of his crime off his stomach with a balled-up undershirt, his gut churning. He hadn’t meant to. It was the heat of the moment; everyone’s brain went to strange places when they jerked off, this was no different. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t an accident, then Sev had just come at the thought of Atin’s severe, sober face, his cheekbones and that fucking scar he wore like a mark of bravery. Atin, his _brother_.

Sev tucked himself back into his fatigues and rolled over to face the wall. Manda help him if Vau ever found out. Fuck, if the rest of Delta found out. He shuddered and forced away fantasies of Atin’s skin against his.

* * *

It was a joint op. “Morale-building,” Skirata had said with a glint in his eye. “Get the job done using teamwork, boys. You might not make it back, otherwise.”

Sure, _teamwork_. That was fine when you were working with your own team, but shabla Skirata had forced Delta in with his pet morons Omega, and now everything was going to haran.

Sev shivered beneath his bivy sack, glaring at Atin’s sleeping face. They’d zipped their sleeping bags together for added warmth; all of them had. It was colder than the Duchess’s tits outside, old snow and new ice whipping through the air as the wind howled. They’d bunkered down in a tree-lined hollow, laying evergreen boughs over the snow to keep them off it. If Sev had had his druthers he would have zipped in with Scorch like he always did, but no, shabla Skirata (and Vau! _Vau_!) had forced them to buddy up across squad lines. Sev was so mad he could suck tibanna and spit bolts.

And he was scared. He was scared because the warmth between them was thawing out his kad, and the heavy weight of Atin’s legs against his was making it wake up.

He wasn’t a brotherfucker, he wasn’t like _them_! He jerked off to illicit porn on the holonet just like the rest of Delta, not the face of a disgraced, weak brother who wouldn’t know loyalty if it cut him across the mouth.

He tried moving back, but he couldn’t: sleeping bags were built tight to conserve heat. He closed his eyes, but that just meant Atin’s scent, familiar and warm like all his brothers’, popped out, begging for his attention. He tried thinking about the goriest things he’d ever seen, but that left him cold and nauseated, and more likely than ever to turn to his brother for comfort. What the karking hell was he supposed to _do_! Leaving their sack was suicide, he’d freeze to death before he got his armor on. Ignoring it wasn’t working, and just sitting there was making him hard. Was he just supposed to sit patiently until his kad turned blue and fell off?

 _You wouldn’t be worrying about this with Scorch_ , an ugly little voice whispered in the back of his mind.

“Yeah, because Scorch doesn’t give me a cockstand,” Sev muttered back. Atin stirred, but didn’t wake. Sev relaxed. He’d rubbed one out while sharing a sack with Scorch before, both of them had. But that was just cleaning the pipes. No worse than when they jacked off in the shower or in the bunks, just a little closer. Scorch didn’t make Sev hyperaware of his skin. Scorch’s scent was familiar, but not tantalizing. The weight of Scorch’s body against his didn’t make him so desperate he couldn’t see straight.

Sev’s hand was half in his blacks before he was aware of it. He froze, his fingers touching hot skin. Did he dare? Could he pull himself off with Atin literally six inches away?

A better question: _should_ he? Atin wasn’t his squad, was only his brother in the loosest sense; he and Sev didn’t have an understanding about bodily fluids the way Sev did with Scorch. And he was a traitor to Vau; Sev didn’t like him. Didn’t want to show his tender bits to him.

His cock twitched against his fingers. Sev scowled.

If he kept it quiet, though, and caught his spunk… Atin wouldn’t have to know. Sev could get some release, maybe work out whatever the fuck was wrong with him, and get some shabla sleep. All he had to do was keep it quiet.

Quiet. Easy-peasy.

Quiet as a sigh, quiet as a silenced bolt, quiet as a scout drawing close to an enemy camp, Sev took himself in hand. The first stroke sent sparks through his taut nerves; the second, a breathy moan from his lips. Sev froze, his hand going tight about his shaft. Atin didn’t stir.

 _Careful, fuckwit_. Sev covered his mouth with his hand and set to work on himself with a will. For a while he thought half-heartedly about the dancer he’d seen in a club on Coruscant a while back, all long legs and weaving undulations, but he might as well have been imagining a blank wall. It wasn’t until he replaced the dancer in his head with Atin that his cock jumped in his hand.

And oh, what an image it was. He had to work through an uncomfortable twinge at putting a brother in that position: high heels, glitter, a tiny scrap of cloth covering his pieces as he writhed to the music. But _Manda_. Sev’s breathing went ragged, and he picked up the pace.

It was almost too much. He felt his orgasm surging, and Sev backed off, holding himself until the tide ebbed. He looked up at Atin’s face.

Atin was watching him.

Ice water slushed through Sev’s veins. His eyes went wide; his breath caught in his lungs, trapped on a flaccid apology. And his cock, damn all the little gods, throbbed.

They stared at each other for interminable moments, neither speaking. Atin’s eyes were black pools, unreadable in the darkness; the scar across his mouth was barely visible. Sev waited for condemnation, waited for disgust, waited for something, but all Atin did was watch him. Then his eyes flicked down to Sev’s cock, pale against the backdrop of his blacks. Sev had untucked his cock, but no more; the hem of his blacks chafed at the root, teasing him.

He didn’t know what to do. Atin’s stare was a physical weight on his skin, and fluid leaked out of him, trickling down his knuckles.

Still, Atin said nothing. Tentatively, every muscle in his body tense and ready to fight or run, Sev stroked himself. He stared at Atin’s bowed head and picked up where he left off, jacking himself until the muscles in his thighs twitched, sending his hips forward. Atin’s heat was so close, he could feel his warmth against the head of his cock. What if he were to rub up against Atin? Pull down his blacks and rut against bare skin? He gasped, and Atin’s head jerked up.

This time, Sev didn’t stop. He stared into Atin’s eyes, stripped bare and wanting, and heat built beneath his skin until he was spilling into his hand with a sharp hiss.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Sev kept his hand cupped around the head of his cock, his palm full of spunk that even now he could smell, musky and pungent in the crowded confines of the sack.

How the kriff had he thought this was a good idea? Sev trembled, and when Atin moved, he flinched.

He didn’t move to hurt him, though. Instead, he pushed down his own blacks, and drew out his own cock. Sev could just make out the shape of it popping free, bobbing slightly in the humid air between them. It was wrong, and the screams of the two clones Vau had beaten rang in his ears, but when Atin took Sev’s messy hand and wrapped it around his shaft, Sev damn near forgot his own name.

They held still, testing out this new frontier. Sev’s relationship with Atin had always been antagonistic: always searching for cracks in the armor, always searching for scabs to pick. Sev suddenly wondered if there wasn’t more to his harassment. He stared at Atin, his own come squishing between his fingers beneath the clamp of Atin’s hand, and yeah, he fucking wondered.

He jacked Atin off. Every breath, every twitch, and that sweet, aching noise Atin made right before he came—Sev saved it all, damned by his own perfect recall. Atin came over Sev’s limp cock, striping him with liquid heat. _He marked me_ , Sev thought idiotically, and his skin tightened at the thought. He pushed it aside as desperately as he could, but he couldn’t seem to let go of Atin. It was Atin who had to pry him off, and fuck, Sev would never live down the desperate little mewl he made when he did.

He braced himself against Atin’s scorn. It didn’t come. He looked up, and even in the darkness he could see the compassion on his brother’s face, like a bitter taste in the back of Sev’s mouth. He pulled them together, resting his forehead against Sev’s. It was almost too much. How could something so bad feel so good? Sev shuddered through his conflicting emotions, but eventually his rational mind came back on line and he pulled sharply away.

He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t disappoint Vau. “Not a fucking pervert,” he muttered, and rolled over in the sack, putting his back to Atin, stuffing his damp, thickening cock back in his blacks.

He’d been a di'kut once. He learned his lesson. Behind him, Atin sighed.

The wind blew, drowning out every other noise. Sev shivered. Whoever the fuck the Duchess was, it was colder than her shabla tits.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this tiny subfandom in an already niche corner of Star Wars


End file.
